


drunk and smitten

by nezumiprefersdanielleovershakespeare



Category: No. 6 (Anime & Manga), No. 6 - All Media Types, No. 6 - Asano Atsuko
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-11-05 04:27:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11005977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nezumiprefersdanielleovershakespeare/pseuds/nezumiprefersdanielleovershakespeare
Summary: Really just a drabble - Shion breaks into Nezumi's apartment in the middle of the night, completely drunk and thinking it's his own home that he's let himself into.





	drunk and smitten

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote and posted this in February, 2015.
> 
> I'm reposting some of my old fics from the many accounts I previously deleted over the past few years, so if you're familiar with my fics and want to request that I repost a certain old fave, feel free to message me at my tumblr: http://coolasamackerel.tumblr.com or comment on this post: http://coolasamackerel.tumblr.com/post/160488980276/danielles-nezushifree-fics and I'll be happy to consider reposting it! For both my new readers and my old guys, hope you enjoy the fic!! :D

Nezumi is just dozing off when he hears the giggling.

            It is a delayed kind of giggling that comes in spurts, interrupted by streams of curses and a clanging sound, like keys against a lock.

            _Wait a second…_

            Nezumi sits up, realizes the sound isn’t just _like_ keys against a lock, it _is_ keys against a lock, and his realization permits two main problems.

            One: Nezumi is already in his apartment where he lives alone, and he is not expecting visitors – especially seeing as it is near three in the morning.

            Two: The lock on his apartment door is broken.

            More giggling as Nezumi slides out of bed, and then the clanging stops, followed by a crashing sound that Nezumi assumes is his door being swung inward against the wall in his hallway.

            His assumption, unfortunately, is proven entirely correct when Nezumi peers out of his bedroom and into the hallway, where a stranger stands in the open doorway.

            Stands, actually, is a bit of an overstatement. The stranger is leaning against the hallway, clutching the paint for support.

            He does not notice Nezumi, as he is currently rubbing his eyes, so Nezumi takes a moment to survey him in the dark, and comes to the conclusion that the stranger in his house is really too intoxicated to pose much of a threat.

            Nezumi walks out of his bedroom without the knife he keeps on his bedside table and flips on the hallway light switch.

            “Oh!” the stranger exclaims, his hands dropping from his eyes, and Nezumi watches him squint into the light.

            He is a rather bizarre looking stranger, Nezumi notes. His mess of hair is almost obnoxiously white, and he has an odd red scar wrapping around his neck and curling over his cheek. His eyes – though Nezumi can’t be sure, thanks to the squinting – appear red, and not just in the bloodshot sense that is to be expected.

            “I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” Nezumi says slowly, stepping forward as the stranger’s eyes open wider – indeed, they are red – and lock on his.

            “Well. I did not expect you,” the stranger slurs, pointing, and Nezumi raises his eyebrows.

            “Don’t really want to call the cops, so try and make this easy on me, will you?” Nezumi sighs, taking another step forward and really hoping he won’t have to walk this guy home, as he’s got early theater practice.

            “Wow,” the stranger says, slumping even further against the wall.

            “Do you know where you live?”

            “Woooow,” the stranger repeats, stretching the word into three syllables now before smiling goofily.

            Nezumi narrows his eyes. “Kindly take your inarticulation somewhere else.”

            “You’re beautiful. Increbably – Increbadly – Incredibly beautiful,” the guy slurs, and Nezumi sighs, crosses his arms over his chest.

            “And your breath reeks, but that’s enough observations for one night, don’t you think?” Nezumi snaps, as he has enough drunkards leering at him after his plays, and doesn’t need any home visits.

            To be fair, the drunk kid in his house isn’t exactly leering, and he seems more in awe than actually lecherous, but there is the undeniable fact that he is _in Nezumi’s apartment_ , and entirely uninvited, at that.

            Not to mention the ridiculous hour. Nezumi doesn’t necessarily have the urge to be hit on by weirdos in the middle of the night, as flattering as it is.

            “Are you a real person? Model. A model, you’re a model, there’s a model in my house,” the kid slurs happily, grinning ridiculously, taking steps closer but staying slumped against the wall, and Nezumi hopes the smell of booze won’t stick to the peeling paint.

            “This isn’t your house,” Nezumi says, pinching the bridge of his nose.

            “Are your eyes real? Can I touch – I want to touch – ”

            “No touching,” Nezumi snaps, alarmed, swiping his hand out just in time to hit the kid’s outstretched arm away from his face. “Are you kidding me?”

            “Are you kidding me?” the guy replies, clearly in a sad effort to mock Nezumi, as his voice goes comically low and he attempts to stand up straight, but instead nearly tips over, and Nezumi instinctively reaches out and catches the kid in his arms.

            Immediately, the stranger is sagging into his chest, his lips against Nezumi’s neck.

            “Hellooooo, beautiful burglar,” the stranger whispers into Nezumi’s skin, and Nezumi exhales loudly, considers dropping the idiot, but instead accepting defeat and reaching out to shut his door before half-dragging, half-carrying the drunk asshole into his apartment.

            “I’m not a burglar. This is my apartment,” Nezumi says, through clenched teeth, not entirely sure why he is even attempting to reason with the drunk guy.

            He notes that the stranger’s breaths are incredibly hot and fast against his neck, and he can’t help but wonder if such a thing is normal as he deposits the kid on his couch.

            “Don’t throw up,” he says sternly, while the stranger curls up into a ball and blinks blearily up at him, still smiling that goofy grin.

            “Are you an alocolol – alco – are you a alalacol-induced fantasy created by my imagination?” the stranger asks, and Nezumi stares at him with his hands on his hips, wondering what he can do with the guy.

            Tossing him out seems harsh, but the stranger is asking for it, staring at him with his crazy-wide eyes in some kind of weird admiration that is just downright creepy.

            “My imagination is superb. You’re fantastic. Beautiful. Eyes are stunning. S-T-U-N-N-N-N-N – ”

            “All right, shut up, I get it, you’re infatuated, stop talking, will you?” Nezumi snaps, thoroughly annoyed now, especially because he can’t help but think that the constant compliments are a bit nice.

            It helps that this drunk guy is kind of cute himself, unlike the usual drunkards Nezumi deals with – but Nezumi doesn’t allow himself to acknowledge that, and instead decides conclusively that the drunk stranger has got to go immediately.

            “Look, you’re going to have to leave.”

            “Do you want my number? I have a phone, let’s call each other all the time,” the stranger says, uncurling and leaning forward, and he nearly falls out of the chair, so Nezumi is again forced to stoop down and catch him.

            The stranger’s hands curl around Nezumi’s t-shirt in a desperate grip that is somewhat alarming, and Nezumi listens to the kid inhale a staggering breath that catches a few times in his throat before he’s exhaling deeply against Nezumi’s neck.

            “My name is Shion. You can call me Shion. All my friends do,” the stranger – or Shion, as it would seem – whispers, and Nezumi attempts to unlatch the kid, but his grip is strong.

            “Okay, time to let go. Hey – Shion, let go – ” Nezumi says, his voice not as harsh as he means it to be, and when he says the kid’s name, the stranger finally shifts his grip, but only so that he can tip his head back and look up at Nezumi from just a few inches away.

            Nezumi attempts to lean back, wincing at the smell of alcohol combined with the earnestness of this stranger’s gaze, but the stranger doesn’t allow him to get too far.

            “My friend Safu would say that my racing heart, accelerated pulse, and flushed skin suggest a chemical reaction indicating the strong emotions I feel when I look at you, intensified when I touch you,” Shion murmurs, and Nezumi blinks, feels his lungs empty suddenly.

            He quickly recovers, and again attempts to unlatch the kid’s grip from his shirt. “Well I say that all that stuff suggests that you’re drunk and possibly have alcohol poisoning, so you should get yourself to a hospital, or more importantly, out of my apartment,” Nezumi replies, although he is somewhat impressed that the kid could manage to say all of that nonsense coherently in his state when a minute ago he could hardly get out the word “incredibly.”

            Definitely an odd kid.

            “That’s also possible,” the kid breathes, and Nezumi rolls his eyes, takes a breath and a step back with the kid still latched onto him.

            He continues this way back to the front door, although he has to stop halfway there and pick up the kid, who finally lets go of him in the hall and falls in a giggling heap around Nezumi’s legs.

            Nezumi winds an arm around his waist as he lifts him, and Shion’s t-shirt rides up, exposing a large section of skin that reveals that his weird scar even goes around his torso and disappears into his jeans.

            Nezumi stares for only a second, then is back to dragging the kid to the door, and almost makes it before he hears the squeaks of his mice, who must have been woken by the stranger’s commotion.

            “Those cats look like mice,” Shion whispers loudly, pointing and squirming in Nezumi’s arms, and Nezumi attempts to steady him.

            “Those are mice, you idiot,” he replies, hand on his doorknob, but the effort is futile, as Shion is out of his arms and on all fours on his floor, reaching out to pet the mice that have approached him.

            Nezumi glares at his mice. Usually they despise strangers – a sentiment Nezumi shares. He has no idea why they have chosen this idiot to trust, and cannot help but feel betrayed by their open friendliness towards the intruder, who could possibly be a large threat, for all Nezumi knows.

            “Hellooooo, little mice. My name is Shion. What are your names?”

            “They’re mice, they don’t have names. Get up, you’re leaving, remember?” Nezumi snaps, nudging the stranger with his socked-foot.

            “Don’t have names?” Shion asks, looking up at Nezumi and appearing absolutely devastated. “But they’re part of the family!”

            Nezumi sighs loudly and leans against the wall. He stares up at the ceiling and thinks again about calling the police.

            “What’s your name, beautiful man?” the stranger asks, reaching up to grab the hem of Nezumi’s t-shirt, and before Nezumi realizes what Shion’s is doing, he’s nearly being dragged down as Shion pulls himself up by his shirt.

            “Ow, get off,” Nezumi snaps, reaching out to hit the stranger’s hand off his shirt, but Shion acts more quickly and grabs Nezumi’s wrist, holding it tightly in a warm hand.

            “That’s not a name,” Shion says, looking at Nezumi in that unnervingly serious way of his.

            Nezumi exhales loudly through his nose, looks again at the ceiling, then glances back at Shion. “Nezumi,” he says, finally, unsure why he’s saying it even as he does.

            “That’s not a name either,” Shion whispers, leaning too close, but the wall is behind Nezumi, and he cannot lean back further.

            “First you break into my house, then you insult my name. Not the best track record,” Nezumi replies coolly, attempting to glare, but Shion’s hand that isn’t around his wrist has curled around Nezumi’s waist, and Nezumi isn’t really sure what it’s doing there, isn’t sure what to do about it’s presence there.

            “This is my house,” Shion says, and Nezumi grits his teeth.

            “No, it’s not.”

            “Yes, it is.”

            “No, it’s – I’m not having this conversation with you! Do you even know what time it is?” Nezumi demands.

            Shion says nothing for a long moment, and Nezumi isn’t altogether certain what to do with the silence. He can only hope the kid is taking the time to finally feel some guilt for breaking into his apartment at this ridiculous hour.

            Shion, however, obliterates all such hopes when he finally does speak.

            “I think we should kiss,” he says, carefully, and Nezumi scoffs.

            “And why on earth should we do that?” he demands, finally letting himself be amused by this stranger.

            Of all the drunk people that could have stumbled into his apartment, Nezumi cannot help but feel that he got the absolute craziest of the lot.

            “Because I’m drunk and therefore my inhibitions are incredibly low. And you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. And my heart is racing, and my pulse is accelerated, and my skin is flushed – ”

            “Your offer still doesn’t seem all that appealing for me,” Nezumi points out, mostly to interrupt the kid before he continues this list on how much he is swooning, as hearing such things in such a straightforward manner is rather unnerving.

            Shion nods in an exaggerated way, shifts the hand from Nezumi’s waist to his chest, and Nezumi again tries to step back, but the damn wall is still in his way – he’ll have to get them removed in the morning, he decides. It’s not like they’re any good at keeping unwanted people out, anyway.

            “Your pupils are dilated. Your heart is also racing. Your pulse is accelerated,” Shion says, and Nezumi is again acutely aware of the kid’s fingers surrounding his wrist. “You’re either drunk, too, or you feel some sort of attraction.”

            “There are other reasons for racing heartbeats, you know,” Nezumi snaps, thoroughly annoyed at this kid’s observations, which are quite intrusive, actually, and Nezumi thinks that the stranger should mind his own goddamn business when he breaks into people’s homes.

            Shion stares for another second, then surprises the hell out of Nezumi by grinning that absurdly wide grin again. “I know. I just really want to kiss you,” he says, and Nezumi confirms inwardly – the guy is a madman.

            “Do you really think I give a damn what you want?” Nezumi asks, fed up, and Shion squints at him as if he’s actually considering the question.

            “I don’t know. Do you give a damn what I want, Nezumi?”

            _No,_ is what Nezumi should have said, automatically, instinctively, not having to think about it, but instead he is thinking about it, he is staring at this stranger who is looking at him in such an odd way, a way Nezumi has never been looked at before – it isn’t leering, it isn’t even just admiring – it’s genuine, it’s open, it’s wholehearted.

            It’s too much, for a stranger, not to mention a completely drunk stranger, and Nezumi thinks that he could kiss the kid if he wanted, and on some level, he does, but instead, he frees his wrist from Shion’s grip, lifts his hands to Shion’s shoulders, and gently pushes him away.

            “You can sleep on my couch tonight. The bathroom is that door to the left, I’ll grab you a blanket,” Nezumi hears himself saying, and then he’s sliding out from between Shion and the wall and going back to his room, breathing deeply for a full two minutes before grabbing the blanket from his bed and coming back out to where Shion has, by some miracle, actually listened to his directions and is lying on his couch.

            “Hi, Nezumi,” Shion says, when Nezumi approaches him and throws the blanket over his shoulders.

            “Go to sleep,” Nezumi instructs.

            “I want a goodnight kiss.”

            “And I wanted you to leave, but here we are,” Nezumi replies, bending down to grab the blanket from the floor, where Shion kicked it off. “Leave this, or you’ll get sick,” he murmurs, tucking it carefully around Shion’s body as he spreads it over him this time, and Shion is mercifully still.

            “G’night, mouse man,” Shion breathes, closing his eyes, and Nezumi stands and watches him for a second before shaking his head and walking back to his bedroom.

            He leaves the door open and lies on his bed, but despite the late – or early, at this point – hour, he is not tired at all.

            He rolls onto his back, blanketless, and stares at his ceiling, listening to the accelerated beat of his own heart.

 

*


End file.
